Collateral Damage
by Fayola
Summary: Life goes on, even during times of war. Light-hearted humor followed by... almost-angst?


**Disclaimer:** Transformers isn't mine. Like I'd be wasting my time writing if they were… pfft!

A/N: Just a little… something. I don't know. This is a few years after Mission City, after several more Autobots – as well as a few 'Cons – have arrived on Earth, and they await with baited breath the arrival of more. Just another day in amidst the continuing war. My attempt at humor turned sour toward the end when, without being summoned, half of a pathetic excuse for a plot popped up.(I may or may not post anything. Depends on just how big of a decline it takes during the writing process. DX And, of course, upon whether or not anyone would bother reading further posts.)

I suppose, though, it's not that big of a disappointment to me. It's a solid example of real life. Happy moments can pop up during unhappy times, but as soon as the laughter fades, in creeps reality and all its depressing ilk.

Thanks for song lyrics go to The Zoot, Dolly Parton, and Frank Zappa.

The day did not seem to want to end, the sun deferring its exodus from the serene Californian town as long as it could. Long after night had been due to fall, twilight remained, lighting the way for the few residents that remained out of doors. One resident in particular had felt rather privileged that the reluctant-to-leave sun had extended her deadline but now looked at the last feckless rays with the same sense of reluctant foreboding that the day itself was experiencing. Nonetheless, both turned dutifully toward home.

Focusing on the seams in the sidewalk that tended to give the young child difficulty keeping her scooter upright, she did not notice the little yellow sports car parked on someone's lawn until she bumped into it and elicited from it a small warble of surprise.

Bumblebee froze -- not that he was moving much, sitting in his alt form in the Witwicky yard -- afraid he had blown the thus-far well-kept cover of the Autobots. However, the Human youngling simply lisped "Sowwy, car," and continued on her way.

Mildly surprised (Did the little fleshling already know of his true form?), Bee turned back to his watch on the house before him, relief short-lived. He pulled a bit closer to the back door where his charge stood, fidgeting and pacing nervously. Chirping softly at the boy, the Camero urged him inside by playing a sound byte through his speakers.

"_I guess you better get, better get going now! You better get going now!"_

"Yeah yeah, I know," Sam grumbled to his guardian around the nail of his right index finger he was nervously chewing on, not even blinking at the bot's continued habit of speaking in song clips. "I'm just… working on a conversation starter."

Bee grimaced – mentally, at least – in sympathy for his human friend. He'd been witness to more than a good share of Ron's and Judy's irrationalities and idiosyncrasies over the past two years to understand the inner turmoil Sam was going through.

But nonetheless, it had to be done.

"It will be all right, Sam," Bee said in what he hoped was a comforting voice. (Ratchet may have repaired his vocal processor, but after the damage it had sustained and the time it had gone without use, he was still having problems.) "As grave as Optimus believes the situation to be, you and your family will be safe."

"Yeah, I just-!" Sam began stridently, then paused with a flinch, checking to make sure he'd gone unheard by anyone other than his Autobot guardian before continuing in a hushed but frantic whisper. "I just didn't think I would have to tell my parents they're being put on the Giant Robot Witness Protection Program! This is one of those situations I just didn't think to plan ahead for!"

Bee gave a sad little chirp but nudged him on, speakers singing, "_But everything's gonna work out just fine, everything's gonna be all right that's been all wrong!"_

Sam paused his assault on his left hand – nails on his right hand having been demolished – and grimaced at Bee's song choice.

"Thank you, Dolly," he muttered. Nonetheless, he turned decisively toward the kitchen door, stance wide and shoulders braced. He took a deep breath and blew it out sharply. "Here we go…"

Without further ado, he opened the screen door and walked in, sparing only one nasty glare over his shoulder as he left Bee chuckling to himself as he played the funeral march.

His parents were easy enough to find. They were sitting in the living room watching the evening news, each with a glass of wine in hand, as was customary for the time of day. They looked up at his entrance, mildly surprised to see him home so early, as he usually stayed out well past ten on most nights with Mikaela and – heretofore unbeknownst to them – at least one giant robot.

"What's up, Sammy?" his mother asked, taking a sip of her drink. Sam couldn't help but think to himself, _You're gonna need that._

"Well, I…" he started, voice cracking. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I have something I need to tell you guys."

"Is Mikaela pregnant?" his dad asked immediately, narrowing one eye in a calculating look.

"Wha – no!" Sam felt the heat rise up into his face.

"Is she breaking up with you?" Judy ventured tentatively, a look of motherly sympathy on her face. "Because honey, I know you love her and…"

"Mom, no!" This conversation was not at all going how he wished it would. "No, Mikaela is still happily my girlfriend and _not_… er, pregnant." He blushed again at the thought. While he was not keen on discussing the Autobots with his parents, he was even less comfortable with the topic of his sex life.

"Can you guys just come outside with me?" he groaned into his hands. "I have something I need to show you."

"Well, okay!" his mom said brightly. "Just let me get a refill."

"You do that," he muttered under his breath. Were he not under age, he would have been doing the same.

"So what's up, Sa-" His father, leading the way outside, froze when he saw the yellow and black Camero that was parked on his lawn. He whirled around, pinning his son with an indignant look.

"Sam, what have I said about respecting my lawn?!" The hand not holding a wine glass was waving wildly at Bumblebee.

"Yeah yeah, I'm sorry, but this really wasn't something I could do out in the open," Sam said quickly, backing up a few steps in case the errant hand got a little too close. The look of disbelief he received spurred him to hurry up.

"Okay, you know how I said the army wrecked my old car in Mission City two years ago?" he said, wiping away the film of nervous sweat that had formed on his upper lip. A nod.

"Well, that's not_ entirely_ true."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Which part?"

"Well…" Sam looked at the ground rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, all of it." He looked up in time to see his father throw a confused glance at his Camero. Sam went on before he could speak.

"That's my old car." He pointed to Bumblebee, as if Ron had missed seeing him thus far. Ron opened his mouth again, looking even more confused. Again, Sam cut him off, hurriedly saying, "'Cept, it's not really a car, he's… um… he's a – a giant… robot."

He stood there rather lamely, arms dangling at his sides. His father merely blinked. He opened his mouth again, pausing to see if his son would interrupt him yet again. Getting no response, he drew a deep breath, looked Sam straight in the eye, and said, "Okay."

Sam blinked back. It had not been what he'd been expecting. Mildly exasperated, he turned to Bee, saying, "Just transform already."

With a cheerful whir, Bumblebee complied. Even in his ire, Sam couldn't help but appreciate the amazing sight. By the look on Ron's face, his father couldn't either. As the former Camero stood to his full height, the elder Witwicky stared up into the Autobot's face, blinked twice rapidly, and said, "Wow."

Having not taken the initiative to follow her husband, Judy was startled out of her home by the sound of Bumblebee transforming and taking refuge from unwelcome eyes in the shelter of the trees in the Witwicky yard. The screen door slammed violently behind her as she came tearing out of the kitchen, hair flying, eyes wild, and wielding a Louisville Slugger.

"Ron!" she shrieked angrily. "Hold down whatever hooligan is mutilating my flowers again so I can beat the crap out of them! I just replanted those petunias yest--!"

She stopped both her verbal and physical assault abruptly, dropping out of battle-mode upon the discovery that her yard's agitator was a sixteen-foot-tall robot – who, to her satisfaction, was seated some good feet _away_ from said petunias.

Sam didn't trust himself to speak. He simply began counting the petals on the solitary surviving bloom of the rosebush beside him, thinking _Stupid idea, slag-head, stupid stupid stupid!_ over and over to himself. His father, most fortunately, seemed to have retained a few brain cells through his introduction to Bumblebee and took it upon himself to bring his wife into the clear.

"Honey, this is Sam's car… the nice one _and _the one I bought him."

Judy blinked a few times, an unexpected look growing on her face – a look of motherly adoration – and waved the hand that was not limply holding the bat at Sam, exclaiming, "Ooh, Sam, sweeting, it's so cute!"

While Bumblebee _was _giving the most inviting and innocent of looks, optics scrunched up in an unmistakably friendly smile – all while, not to mention, crouched amid cheerfully coloured flowers – Sam was nonetheless appalled at Judy's statement.

"_Mom!_" he screeched in horror and disgust, "He's a giant alien robot from another planet! He's not supposed to be _cute!_"

Bumblebee, unconcerned for his reputation as an aft-whooping alien, gave a warbling little laugh at his human's chagrin and played, "_Feelin' sorry, feelin' sad! So many ugly people! I feel so bad I'm so cute!"_

Dearly wishing Mikaela were there with him – she was currently helping her aunt and guardian, Chase, by pulling an extra shift at the garage they had just recently purchased with their government hush-money – Sam sullenly crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his Autobot guardian.

"What decade are _you_ streaming from today," he grumbled. Despite his previously shown worry, he was rather put out everyone was taking this so well. What good was being the Autobots' human liaison if people were going to react so calmly? How could he defuse a situation if there wasn't one to begin with? It all felt very much like a rip-off.

"Can we go inside now?" Sam muttered sullenly. "I've got some stuff to talk to you about."

"There's more?" his mother asked with uncontained glee. "Well, you betcha!"

And with that, she linked her arm through her husband's, marching them both back indoors, positively aglow at the prospect of hearing all about the alien robot in her backyard. Sam, with one last look of annoyance and a shake of his head, followed.

As soon as his human charge had entered the building, Bee chuckled merrily to himself. He didn't have to read minds to know what was going on in the one of his little friend.

For the past three and a half orns, Sam had been fighting Optimus tooth and nail, trying to convince him that revealing to his parents the existence of another species, let alone an alien one, was a bad idea. Recent activity, however, had convinced Prime that the time for such was now, so that when the need came for Sam or one of his creators to be protected, they would not react badly to a giant robot popping up out of their teenager's car. And so, there Sam was, sitting in his living room, telling his creators all about the Autobots. (Conveniently, the Decepticons were, for the moment, being left out of the discussion. If there had been one thing Sam had been able to convince Optimus of, it was his mother's temper and his father's inability to handle a crisis.)

As per his orders, Bee commed his leader.

"Bumblebee to Optimus."

"_Go ahead, Little Bee,"_ came the deep rumble of Prime's vocalizer. It heartened Bumblebee to hear the stress that had so recently plagued his leader's voice gone, even if momentarily. At least he was in a good enough mood to refer to him by his sparklinghood nickname.

"Things are well at the Witwicky home," Bee informed Optimus. "I have already revealed myself to Sam's creators, and he is explaining to them now of our existence."

"_Very good, Bee," _he replied._ "I understand the apprehensions your human felt in doing such, but I feel the need for such is growing stronger by the joor."_

"Still no response from the incoming signals?" Bee frowned.

"_No,"_ Optimus sighed, the worry beginning to creep back into his voice. _"Ironhide grows restless, insisting their silence confirms their status among the Decepticon ranks."_

"That's just like Hide to think so." Bumblebee forced a laugh, trying to qualm the same apprehensions. "You know how he gets – he won't rest easy until the femme contingent arrives."

There came a small hum of agreement from the other end. _"Though there is still no word from them either, however, and they are an orn overdue."_

"Prowl will give them all a stern lecture about punctuality and the strategic drawbacks ignoring such brings, no doubt." Bee paused, then, nervously, asked, "How is he doing?"

There was a weighty pause from the other end of the line. The silence spoke volumes.

"_He is not well,"_ Optimus spoke at last. Bee could just envision the look of sorrow and pain on his leaders faceplates; it had been there far too often as of late.

"_I worry for our old friend,"_ Prime continued. _"It seems the bond he and Jazz shared was stronger than they thought. With each passing orn, we lose a little more of who Prowl used to be."_

Bee could think of nothing to respond with than what he had continually asked since the tactician's landfall fourteen months ago.

"Will he be alright?"

Another pause.

"_I do not know, Bumblebee."_

The little scout did not respond, wanting to believe the lie. Who knew what would happen? Maybe Prowl would be able to move on. Maybe the body could live without the spark.

"Good night, sir," he said at last.

"_Good night, Little Bee."_


End file.
